


Cherry Lips

by Hunter (thehunter)



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehunter/pseuds/Hunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"With your cherry lips and golden curls / You could make grown men gasp / When you go walkin' past..." (Garbage, "Cherry Lips")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Lips

He didn’t want to be there. It was all so unbelievably juvenile. True, it was sort of an unofficial tradition, sneaking out of one’s hotel on a school trip, but that didn’t make it any less stupid. At eighteen years old, they ought to know better. And he had made a point of letting his classmates know exactly how he felt about it.  
  
"You are being ridiculous," he had said when at last he saw that yelling was getting him nowhere. "Does any of you actually know his way around the city? You could get lost, and you’re not even in your own country—anything could happen. And if something did, our chaperones would be blamed! _They_ could get fired because _you_ are horny little idiots with no common sense. I won’t have any part of it." And that was that. He’d given them his opinion; it was up to them to make the sensible decision to stay in and behave themselves. He himself would be studying in his room, or perhaps taking advantage of the hotel’s gym—after all, he’d come to London to learn, not to debauch and dishonor himself in some disgusting nightclub. He washed his hands of the affair.  
  
At least, he thought he had.  
  
But barely an hour later, he found himself trailing the group down the dark, crowded streets, cursing himself for a push-over and a fool. It was his protective instinct that had done him in: one of the younger and more persuasive members of the class, whom he’d defended from bullies on several occasions, had convinced him to come along. They were going anyway, he’d said, although they knew that Klaus was right, anything could happen. But if Klaus came with them, they would be safe under his watch. Klaus was so big and strong, and they just knew that one look at him would be enough to turn away any attacker...  
  
He groaned. _Such_ a push-over.  
  
He didn’t even know where they were going or what their plans were, but he felt obligated to follow. He was aware that his persuader hadn’t really meant what he’d said. In fact, he’d most likely been talked into coming to keep him from ratting them out to their teachers. Even so, he felt some responsibility for the other boys, and resolved to stay with them, to "keep a stiff upper lip," as the British cliché dictated. Just because he was accompanying them didn’t mean he had to join them in whatever they had in mind.  
  
Which was pretty clear, by this point--sex. Lots and lots of sex, in all kinds of ways, with all kinds of girls. Whatever they could get, basically. It seemed that being away from home had somehow exponentially increased the boys’ libido. Klaus noted, amused, that those who supposedly had girlfriends at home were among the most enthusiastic. A few boys were quiet, making the occasional comment when it seemed necessary, but generally keeping their mouths shut, and he figured they had to be the virgins. He felt vaguely sorry for them, as it seemed to be such a burden to them. He was one himself, but he didn’t think it mattered. Although he could appreciate a beautiful girl, none of those he’d met at the social functions he attended with his father had had two brain cells to rub together, and that just was not acceptable. After a number of absolutely disastrous encounters, he had decided in all his eighteen-year-old wisdom that the female of the species simply wasn’t worth his time. None of his classmates had ever asked him about his sexual experience or lack thereof; they all seemed to make their own assumptions in that vein. If questioned, he supposed that he would have told them he’d never met a girl who’d held his interest long enough for that.  
  
They were changing direction now, veering toward some sort of nightclub, and he quickened his pace to keep up with the group. Not that it would make much difference, he supposed; he’d probably lose them the minute they walked in the door.  
  
He was right about that. The area immediately inside was fairly well-lit, but the rest of the place was so very dim that he was surprised the dancers could see well enough to keep from injuring themselves.  
  
Oh, and _there_ was a problem. He didn’t dance. Definitely, indubitably, unequivocally did NOT dance. Not even a little. Not ever. Nor was he interested in drinking, though he could vaguely make out a cluster of his fellow so-called good German boys beckoning to him from the bar. Really, he just wanted to leave. It was hot and dark and loud, and people were standing far, far too close to him. A few seemed to be leering at him, and he knew that couldn’t be good. But he couldn’t walk out on his classmates and he didn’t know what to do with himself. "Watch your trousers," was all he could think, and that was just ridiculous.  
  
He was looking around for a seat of some kind when he saw her, and suddenly lack of purpose wasn’t a problem anymore.  
  
She was dancing half-heartedly on the edge of the crowd, looking nervous and almost as lost as he felt. Not out of place by any means, but not entirely comfortable. Somehow, though, she managed to move naturally and gracefully despite that. Blond curls framed her face, which wasn’t exactly pretty, but something more than that. Striking, certainly. She had large blue eyes, cherry-red lips, and (he shifted to get a better view) impossibly long legs. Her skirt was indecently short, he thought, and that almost made up for her not having any chest to speak of—and then he mentally kicked himself for thinking that way. It was demeaning to both of them. But it was hard to help it, when she was so lovely, so fascinating, so...looking in his direction. Oh, no.  
  
It was probably just his imagination, but he thought her eyes brightened as she noticed him watching her. She hesitated briefly, then walked over, swaying her hips in a manner that Klaus had heard the other boys talk about, but had never imagined could be so compelling. Don’t get too interested, he told himself; you’ll only be more disappointed when she opens her mouth and makes the first vapid remark.  
  
It was fortunate, then, that the music was too loud to make conversation even a remote possibility.  
  
They regarded each other warily at first; then she was smiling and suddenly trying to steer him toward the dance floor. Her hands slid up his back to his shoulders and she began, once again, to move with the beat. Alarmed, he put a hand on her waist and began guiding her...well, somewhere. Anywhere, to escape _that_. Klaus had good looks, remarkable brains, and (according to the girls in Bonn) a certain rough charm, but he did not have rhythm, and he was not about to make a fool of himself. He expected that the girl would be disappointed, but she only smiled more widely, a cat-like grin that he wasn’t entirely sure he liked.  
  
They escaped the crush of bodies, finding themselves in a dark corner of the club which Klaus was fairly certain he hadn’t been aiming for. His first thought was to move, lest she fear for his intentions, but he hardly had time to process the idea before the girl was pressed against him, one hand on his hair and her tongue in his mouth.  
  
Well, then. That was how it felt. Warm and soft and inviting, not awkward and overly-moist, as with the two or three other girls he’d kissed. She tasted faintly of mint and some small part of his mind appreciatively noted that she hadn’t gone the normal teenage route and doused herself in perfume. Her scent was faint and natural, very appealing. It occurred to Klaus after a couple of seconds that he ought to be reciprocating, and he did, gently exploring the inside of her mouth in what he hoped was the right way to do it. He felt her run the tip of her tongue along the edge of his teeth, and shivered with unexpected delight.  
  
She laughed softly into his mouth, then drew back mid-kiss, making him wonder whether he’d done something wrong. But she was kissing his throat then, kissing down his neck and his chest and stomach, right through his shirt. And his mind seemed to be growing more and more distant and vague, so that he didn’t even realize what she meant to do as she unbuckled his belt, unfastened his trousers and shoved them down over his hips, half-smiling at his pristine white underwear.  
  
She looked up at him with a calculating expression that he entirely missed, licked her lips, and gently took the head of his cock—just the head, to start with—into her mouth.  
  
Oh, GOD. He hadn’t even thought of that. He knew what it was, of course, had heard the locker-room conversations, the other boys’ boasting about their exploits with the girls in town—most of them probably fictional. But he had never seriously considered that it might happen to him. He just…hadn’t been interested. It had seemed rather unnecessary, aside from the fact that he’d never before met a girl he’d wanted to touch him at all, let alone...well.  
  
Now, with that tongue sliding down his length, the long fingers gently gripping the base, and those beautiful cherry lips closing around him, he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever lived without it. He moaned and leaned back against the wall, his eyes half-shut.  
  


* * *

  
  
Kneeling between his legs, sliding a hand up the side of one muscled thigh to Klaus’s hip, Dorian Red Gloria smiled—as well as he could, anyway, with a cock in his mouth. He had never expected this to work, not really. He had been crossdressing for ages, since before he’d been aware that it wasn’t quite "normal," but as accomplished as he was, there were some things he just couldn’t hide. He supposed his success that evening was due more to the dim light of the club than to his makeup job. He was growing up; his jaw was taking on a harder line and his eyes were no longer so round, and he knew that in a year’s time this wouldn’t work anymore. He was so, so glad it had worked tonight.  
  
Dorian didn’t even know Klaus’s name, but he knew he was straight, or that he had convinced himself that he was, any other option being inconceivable to someone like him. Dorian was fairly certain he knew the type, and that made it all the more thrilling to taste him, cup his balls in his hand, gently work his mouth all the way down the length of his cock and swallow. The boy’s hands clenched, tugging at his hair. He was probably fairly new at this, too, Dorian reflected, or he’d know better than that. On the verge of raising a hand to stop him, Dorian thought better of it. Instead, he reached down beneath his skirt, shoved the crotch of his panties aside and gave himself a squeeze, none too gently. He groaned and worked his throat muscles around Klaus’s dick. They were both close now...  
  
He took the hand from between his legs, reached up, and simply brushed a finger suggestively down the crack of Klaus’s ass. That was enough. Klaus gasped and arched against the wall, spilling into the "girl’s" mouth. It caught Dorian just slightly off-guard; he still had the presence of mind to swallow, but he couldn’t keep from coming all over himself, and suddenly the front of his skirt was so wet and sticky that he just knew it would never be the same again. He gently slid his lips down and off of Klaus’s cock, giving it a last fond look before he pulled up those ridiculous white underpants (the poor dear was clearly not capable of doing it himself). He fastened the trousers and belt and rose to his feet a trifle unsteadily. He smiled again, kissed Klaus on the cheek, and was gone, moving through the crowd to the door, hoping to get home quickly so his skirt could be cleaned and back in his sister’s closet before she noticed it was missing.  
  


* * *

  
  
Klaus could tell his mind was coming back to him when he found himself unconsciously moving away from the wall. He was sure he would be disgusted later at the thought of what nasty things were undoubtedly clinging to the back of his shirt. Now, though, things were still just a little bit hazy, pleasantly so. He looked after the girl as she left, with a small, soft smile on his face that would surely have alarmed his classmates, if they had seen him.  
  
Vaguely, at the back of his mind, he felt slightly guilty that he hadn’t done anything for her. He told himself that she had seemed to enjoy it, though, and besides, she had left before he had a chance to so much as thank her. She must have wanted it that way. And it had been _so_ good. Not at all disgusting or embarrassing, as he had thought it might be, when he had thought about it at all. It was nothing short of wonderful, he thought.  
  
A few minutes later, when he was sure that he could walk straight, Klaus headed for the door himself. He found that he no longer cared whether his classmates were safe in the nightclub; he wanted to get back to his room and think. As he made his way back, enjoying the light, misty rain, he reflected with a regret that surprised him that he would most likely never see his mystery girl again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 30 Lemons challenge #21: "First-Timers, or 'Yes! I'm Finally Getting Some!'" This fic includes the first sex scene that I ever wrote.


End file.
